


Split

by TheAsexualofSpades



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Good Morgana (Merlin), Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Light Angst, M/M, Protective Merlin, Uther Pendragon's A+ Parenting (Merlin), can be platonic or romantic you decide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:14:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27583241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAsexualofSpades/pseuds/TheAsexualofSpades
Summary: Listen, there is a reason you don’t run into glowing circles of magic even when the sorcerer you’re chasing is standing right inside it. You don’t do that, Arthur, you especially don’t do that when there is a helpful chorus of people behind you passionately yelling ‘no.’You know what, if there’s ever a chorus of people passionately yelling ‘no’ behind you as you’re about to do something, don’t do it. Just good advice.
Relationships: Merlin & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Morgana & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 21
Kudos: 365
Collections: ScribeSmith's Fanfic Library





	Split

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to the nonny on tumblr who made the request!
> 
> I'm sorry if this is a little rougher than my normal posts. I had some hard news this week so I've been a little off.

**Prompt:** hello! i adore your merlin writing and i saw you seemed to be doing prompts? if so, i'd like to submit one, no pressure though! a mysterious spell hits arthur and splits him into different facets/parts of his personality and merlin has to fix it before uther finds out. (this could be an opportunity for some fun shenanigans with the arthur's running around making a mess or an opportunity to explore something a bit angstier ;), up to you). Thank you!!  


* * *

Listen, there is a _reason_ you don’t run into glowing circles of magic even when the sorcerer you’re chasing is standing right inside it. You don’t do that, Arthur, you _especially_ don’t do that when there is a helpful chorus of people behind you passionately yelling ‘no.’

  


You know what, if there’s ever a chorus of people passionately yelling ‘no’ behind you as you’re about to do something, don’t do it. Just good advice.

  


“Sire!”

  


Merlin turns, ducking Leon’s swing as the sword arcs above their heads to come crashing down on a tree limb. With a sharp _crack,_ the branch falls into the circle and a flash of light makes Merlin wince.

  


“ _Arthur!_ ”

  


The gold dies down. Merlin cautiously moves his hand. No sorcerer. A pile of tattered robes lies a little way away. He must’ve gotten hit with part of the magic blast.

  


Groaning comes from the middle of the circle. The mass of red cape stirs.

  


“Arthur, you bloody _idiot,_ ” Merlin hisses, rushing forward as the knights look around, “why’d you _do_ that, you could’ve gotten yourself killed, it—“

  


Merlin’s hand falls away from the cape in shock. His mouth drops open. A blond head raises to look at him. Then another. Then another.

  


“A-Arthur?”

  


“Yes?”

  


“Merlin?”

  


“What do _you_ want?”

  


“Bloody hell…” Gwaine’s voice comes from so far away. Merlin can’t tear his eyes away from the sight.

  


There are _three_ Arthur Pendragons, each with their own red cape, crouched in the middle of the circle.

  


Cautiously, Merlin reaches out to touch the one closest to him. The Arthur raises his eyebrows and regards the hand with disgust, almost slapping it away. Well, he’s definitely _real._

  


“Get my horse, boy,” the Arthur says haughtily, looking around to see the knights, “and you, men, tell me what happened.”

  


Gwaine’s eyebrows shoot to his hairline. “Well, that one’s a prat.”

  


“I’ll have your head for that,” the Arthur snarls, drawing his sword in a flash of steel despite Leon’s hurried ‘sire, no!’

  


And Gwaine’s ‘come on, then.’

  


“Not helping,” Percival mutters as Merlin manages to tear his eyes away from Prince Prat to look at the other two.

  


“Arthur?”

  


The second Arthur looks at him from where he’d been gazing at the trees. “Hello. Are you my manservant?”

  


“Uh, well—“ Merlin glances over his shoulder to where Leon and Lancelot have _just_ started to calm down Prince Prat—“I think, technically, I’m…all of your manservants.”

  


“I’m sorry.”

  


Merlin’s head snaps around. “What?”

  


The second Arthur shrugs. “I’m sorry. That seems inconvenient for you. You were expecting to serve just one master and now it seems you have to serve three.”

  


“Y-yeah, um…” Merlin swallows. “It’s not ideal.”

  


“How did this happen,” the second Arthur says, gesturing between himself and the others, “did we accidentally provoke someone?”

  


“…yeah, you could say that.”

  


“What happened?”

  


“You ran into a magic circle.”

  


“…why?”

  


“I don’t know,” Merlin sighs, “I was about to ask _you_ that.”

  


The second Arthur looks…contrite? Apologetic?

  


“I truly don’t know what would’ve pushed me to do something like that. Were you or any of the knights in direct danger?”

  


“No. Not really.”

  


He frowns. “Then I don’t know.”

  


Merlin glances over his shoulder to where Leon is calmly talking to Prince Prat while Gwaine raises an eyebrow at Merlin. Merlin shrugs. He doesn’t know what’s going on either, okay?

  


“Where’s Morgana?”

  


Merlin looks back at the second Arthur who’s still looking around. “What?”

  


“Where’s Morgana?” The second Arthur shrugs when Merlin looks at him like he’s sprouted another head. Which Merlin’s not ruling out as a possibility, by the way. “She’ll know what to do, or at least have some idea. She’s cleverer than most people give her credit for.”

  


“She…she’s back in the castle,” Merlin says finally, “but that sounds…reasonable.”

  


Reasonable Arthur gives him a nod and a smile, trying to get to his feet. Merlin jumps up to help him, eyes widening slightly when that smile only grows.

  


“Thank you,” Reasonable Arthur says, “I do hope this won’t be too hard for you to adjust to.”

  


“Um…thanks?” Merlin blinks a few times when Reasonable Arthur’s smile _still_ doesn’t go away. “Oh, um, I should’ve asked this earlier, but…what do you remember?”

  


“Un _hand_ me!”

  


“Sire,” comes Leon’s voice, making them turn around to look. Leon stands with his hand not quite touching Prince Prat’s chest, with Lancelot and the others behind him, “you must _listen_ to us, we’re not in danger, the sorcerer is _gone—“_

  


“I’ll believe that when there are no longer _three_ of us!”

  


“What do you remember,” Merlin says quickly as Leon shoots him an exasperated glance, “of before this happened?”

  


“I remember enough to know I have actual _knights_ in my employ,” Prince Prat sniffs, “and that you are an absolutely _awful_ servant.”

  


“I think we have most of our memories intact,” Reasonable Arthur says quickly, “just…not about the split.”

  


“And I have _yet_ to have that explained to me!”

  


Merlin rolls his eyes. “Why don’t _you_ explain why you ran into a _circle of magic_ without any sort of plan?”

  


“I had a plan!”

  


“Yeah, what was it?”

  


“Kill the sorcerer!”

  


Merlin pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. Whoever got the intelligence in this split, the commons sense definitely isn’t with this one.

  


“Alright, well, until we figure out how to fix this, we should get back to Camelot and try to keep this a secret.”

  


Reasonable Arthur nods. Prince Prat just stares at him. “And what makes _you_ think you give the orders around here?”

  


“You have a better idea?”

  


“It’s a solid plan,” Reasonable Arthur says quickly, looking between Merlin, Prince Prat, and the knights, “and I think it would make the most sense.”

  


“Who cares about making _sense,_ I want this _fixed!_ ”

  


“But considering we don’t have the ability to do that right now—“

  


Merlin gets distracted when the third Arthur stands up. If he’s being _completely_ honest, he almost forgot there was a third one. This Arthur doesn’t speak, just takes off his cape and turns it inside out, putting it on and pulling up his hood. Reasonable Arthur and Prince Prat are still arguing, only stopping when the third Arthur slots himself into line behind the horses.

  


“…um…Arthur?”

  


“What?”

  


“Yes?”

  


“No, no, not you guys, um…” Merlin cautiously approaches the third Arthur. “Are you…injured?”

  


The third Arthur shakes his head. “It will be easier if the others do not see me,” he says so quietly Merlin has to bend closer to hear him.

  


“Right, er—“ Merlin looks over his shoulder. “One of you should probably, er, hide as well.”

  


“I’m not hiding,” Prince Prat sniffs.

  


“I would…rather not?” Reasonable Arthur adjusts his own cape. “I don’t think it would be—“

  


“Well, one of us has to, and I’m not going to.”

  


“Can’t we talk about this?”

  


“No.”

  


“Look—“ Merlin quickly puts his hand on Reasonable Arthur’s shoulder. “It’s just until we can get to Gaius.”

  


Reasonable Arthur sighs and fiddles with his cape, standing next to the third Arthur. Prince Prat swings himself up on Arthur’s horse and commands the knights to follow him home. Lancelot spares Merlin one last glance before subtly taking over the lead. Merlin shakes his head. The sooner they can figure this out, the better.

  


Gaius, to his credit, simply raises an eyebrow and sighs. “I take it the patrol went well?”

  


“You’re hilarious.” Merlin shoves Prince Prat away from the bubbling tonics. “Now what happened?”

  


“Based on the fact that they all seem to still have their memories intact, I’m inclined to think it’s some sort of Division magic.”

  


“Division magic?”

  


“Yes.” Gaius watches as Reasonable Arthur attempts to tug his cape back on right while Prince Prat struts about like he owns the place. The third Arthur sits on the stool and doesn’t say anything. “Splitting a person into their separate parts, different versions of themselves that normally reside inside their own heads.”

  


“Why would you want to do that?”

  


“To weaken them, perhaps, in the hopes that it would be…easier to control them.”

  


“You mean kill them,” Prince Prat corrects, “don’t beat around the bush.”

  


“We don’t know that—“

  


“Of course we do!” Prince Prat almost cuffs Reasonable Arthur upside the head. “What else could a sorcerer possibly want?”

  


“How do we fix it,” Merlin says quickly before this conversation can get anymore…terrifying, “there’s got to be a way to fix it.”

  


“There is.”

  


“Then why didn’t you _lead_ with that?” Gaius just gives him a look. “…oh.”

  


“We should tell Morgana,” Reasonable Arthur pipes up, “she’s good at keeping secrets and she’s very clever.”

  


“She’s a _girl,_ ” Prince Prat huffs.

  


“She’s cleverer than you and you know it.”

  


“I’m gonna go get Morgana,” Merlin mutters and tears out of the room.

  


Morgana doesn’t believe him at first. He doesn’t really blame her. Still, her face when she walks in to see _three_ of Arthur standing there is…interesting.

  


“Oh, what’ve you done _now?_ ”

  


“Like you can talk!”

  


“Morgana! You’re here!”

  


Morgana’s eyes widen when Reasonable Arthur looks overjoyed to see her. “…yes?”

  


“I told them you’d help, you’re clever.”

  


Morgana glances at Merlin. “…is he alright?”

  


Merlin quickly fills her in.

  


“Must we fix them,” Morgana muses, “I quite like that one.”

  


“We don’t know how stable it is,” Merlin mutters, “plus, part of this is supposed to make Arthur inconspicuous, right? How well d’you think Uther would react to seeing his son like _that?_ ”

  


Morgana hums. “Well, if there’s that in him normally, I suppose we’ll just have to work on getting it out more often.”

  


She walks over to the others and is promptly swept up in a conversation. Prince Prat is being a prat, Reasonable Arthur is being reasonable, Morgana is being amazing, and Gaius is looking a little less like his forehead is going to iron itself into a frown.

  


The third Arthur doesn’t say anything.

  


Merlin carefully scoots around them, laying a hand on the third Arthur’s shoulder. “Arthur? Sorry, sorry,” he says quickly when the third Arthur flinches, “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  


The third Arthur glances up at him and shakes his head. Merlin breathes out slowly. He lays his hand back carefully, glancing up to signal Gaius to have the others give them some space.

  


Prince Prat has the strut and the puffed-out chest and the voice. Reasonable Arthur has the easy movement and the gracious words and the confident nod.

  


The third Arthur, as Merlin looks at him, is the only one who doesn’t really look like Arthur. Not…not really.

  


His cheeks, while not visibly more gaunt or drawn than the others, have this sort of ashen look to them that makes Merlin’s chest clench in a funny way. The way his sits is almost too still, eerily so, like if he moves even an inch he’ll fall over. There is a solemnity to his movement, as if every step is done with the care and caution of someone balancing on a tightrope, high up in the clouds, the wind whipping about them.

  


He hasn’t said more than half a dozen words, the first of which being Merlin’s name.

  


“Are you alright?”

  


The third Arthur looks up and nods. Merlin’s breath catches in his throat.

  


There is almost _nothing_ behind his eyes.

  


“That sounds fine,” Prince Prat announces, startling Merlin. He looks around to see Reasonable Arthur shaking his head slightly and Morgana’s hands perched on her hips.

  


“What sounds fine?”

  


“Gaius says he can have the cure drawn up by the end of the week,” Morgana says, “and until then, the Arthurs will stay in their chambers and only _one_ will be allowed out at any given time.”

  


“And how’re we supposed to manage that? I mean, are we just supposed to have someone in there all the time that can control them and tell them which one is supposed to—“

  


Merlin stops. Oh, no. No, no, no.

  


“Believe me,” Prince Prat grumbles, “I’m not thrilled about it either.”

  


A quick glance around the room shows that yep, this is in fact happening. Fortunately—or unfortunately—it seems that only Prince Prat and Merlin have some sort of reservations about this. Morgana looks positively gleeful.

  


“Don’t worry Merlin,” she says as she sweeps out of the room, “I’m sure you’ll figure it out!”

  


Well, once they get to Arthur’s chambers, it becomes clear that they have a _lot_ to figure out. Prince Prat insists on sleeping in the bed because it’s his, Reasonable Arthur points out that technically it is all of their beds, Prince Prat threatens to take Reasonable Arthur’s head off until Merlin threatens to make them _both_ sleep on the floor. The grudging agreement to share it doesn’t come free. Reasonable Arthur gets an apple chucked at his head. The rest of that day and the next is spent in terse, tolerable silence that makes Merlin want to bite his own head off.

  


Then of course it’s supposedly time for Arthur to go train and of _course_ Prince Prat has to go. Merlin asks a guard to summon Leon and it’s a testament to how much shit Leon’s been through that he simply nods and lets Prince Prat lead the way. Merlin shakes his head and wonders how the knights will deal with this. He’s sure to get an earful from Gwaine about it later.

  


Then Reasonable Arthur sits down at Arthur’s desk and picks up a quill and just… _works._ Merlin has to stop every once in a while as he's doing his _own_ chores to watch Arthur sit there, scratching away at the roll of parchment, glancing up every so often to smile at Merlin or ask him a question. Then he wants to go talk to Morgana and Merlin has to explain that no, everyone thinks that Arthur—the _one_ Arthur—is outside training right now, he can’t be _also_ seen going to Morgana’s chambers, and having Morgana come _here_ while everyone thinks Arthur’s outside is also not good. Merlin hands the work off to another servant to bring to the King.

  


Then Merlin notices that all the third Arthur’s done is sit quietly on a chair in the corner, toying with something.

  


Glancing over his shoulder to notice that neither of the others has even _noticed,_ Merlin sets down his basket and crosses the room to crouch down in front of him. The third Arthur barely blinks.

  


“…Arthur?”

  


His head turns but he doesn’t make eye contact.

  


“Do you need anything?”

  


He shakes his head with the smallest smile, discreetly tucking whatever he was toying with into his sleeve. Merlin glances over his shoulder again. Reasonable Arthur is paying them absolutely no mind.

  


“…are you alright?”

  


The third Arthur doesn’t quite look at him, but his hand twitches toward Merlin. Merlin holds his own trembling hand out—why is he shaking? What’s happening?—for him to take, if he wants.

  


He doesn’t, and Merlin doesn’t push. This Arthur is…intriguing, to say the least. As he gets back to his chores, pointedly avoiding looking in that direction to give him privacy, he thinks.

  


Has he ever _seen_ this part of Arthur before? Is it just so small normally that he doesn’t? Was there some rule about the spell having to split them into three so they just… _made_ another Arthur?

  


A thundering of footsteps signals the return of Prince Prat, much to Reasonable Arthur’s chagrin.

  


“Off with my armor,” Prince Prat orders, “now.”

  


“Tell you what,” Merlin sighs, “you ask me by name and I’ll do it.”

  


“And why should I do that?”

  


“Because it’s the decent thing to do?”

  


“Who cares about decent?”

  


“We should,” Reasonable Arthur says, frowning, “of _course,_ we should care. If we’re going to be king—“

  


“ _You’re_ not going to be king, I’m going to be king.”  


“Technically we’re _all_ going to be king.”

  


“You won’t do a good job of it. All you want to do is _talk,_ and not fight for what you want, what kind of king will do that?”

  


“And what kind of king will just prattle on about whatever he wants and not listen,” Reasonable Arthur shoots back, “how many enemies will you make because you want to answer things with a sword?”

  


“You have to fight for what is _right!_ ”

  


“And how will you know what that is if you don’t talk?”

  


Merlin sighs, leaning back against the pillar of Arthur’s bed. To be honest, he’d be more invested in this conversation—which is pretty interesting, even without the fact that it’s two versions of Arthur shouting at himself—if he wasn’t already fed up with this entire situation.

  


Then a knock at the door.

  


“Sire!”

  


“Yes?” Prince Prat turns.

  


“The King has summoned you!”

  


The room falls deathly quiet.

  


Merlin quickly says that he’ll be on his way in a second, gaze darting back and forth between the two Arthurs, both of which have gone pale.

  


“W-well,” Reasonable Arthur says, “er…duty calls.”

  


“No, no,” Prince Prat says, actually moving _away_ from the door, “you should go. He wants to talk.”

  


“But you’re in armor.”

  


“But _you_ can actually _think._ ”

  


Merlin’s stomach drops. Arthur…the Arthurs look _scared._

  


“I’ll go.”

  


The third Arthur stands up, the chair scraping against the floor with a horrid noise. He rolls his shoulders back and something in Merlin’s mind clicks.

  


He knows that posture, recognizes it from when they went out to face the dragon. He knows that walk, knows it from seeing Arthur walk towards the block as Morgause held aloft the axe.

  


And as the third Arthur turns around to give them one last look, Merlin recognizes the look in his eyes as their gazes finally meet.

  


Resignation.

  


The door thuds shut behind him before Merlin can even move.

  


His fingers itch. He needs something to do. He turns to Prince Prat. “I’ll, um, I’ll get your armor off.”

  


“N-no,” Prince Prat stutters, still looking at the door. “I need it. I need it on.”

  


“What?”

  


“I need it on,” he repeats, almost clutching his sword.

  


Soft scratchings fill the room and Merlin looks around to see Reasonable Arthur scribbling frantically.

  


“I have to tell him,” he keeps muttering, “I’m right, I just—if he would let me explain, I could—“

  


“You can’t,” Prince Prat interrupts. “You know you can’t. He won’t listen to words.”

  


“If we defend ourselves it—“

  


“If we talk it—“

  


“We have to—“

  


“We can’t—“

  


The Arthurs freeze. Prince Prat’s hand is wrapped firmly around the pommel of his sword. Reasonable Arthur’s hands ball up in spare sheets of parchment. Neither of them dares look away from the door.

  


An icy pit opens up in Merlin’s chest and a cold fire rages.

  


Somewhere, in this castle, there is an Arthur standing in front of Uther Pendragon, with an indifferent cool gaze iced into place, and the only words on his tongue are: “Yes, Father.”

  


Merlin has no idea how long they stand there.

  


Footsteps.

  


Merlin blinks and suddenly Prince Prat is in front of him, holding out an arm to shield him. Reasonable Arthur is at his shoulder, clutching a scribbled list in one hand, the other on the back of Merlin’s tunic.

  


The door starts to creak open.

  


The Survivor Arthur appears and the room heaves a sigh of relief, quickly followed by Merlin ducking around Prince Prat to rush to Survivor Arthur’s side. His hands flit about anxiously as he asks about injuries. Survivor Arthur shakes his head, moves away from the door, and sits back down in the chair. Merlin watches, gobsmacked, as Reasonable Arthur and Prince Prat just…return to what they were doing. Without any sort of…anything.

  


“Merlin?”

  


Survivor Arthur’s voice breaks him out of his trance, looking around to see his head turned just enough to stare at Merlin’s torso.

  


“I’m here,” Merlin says quickly, “do you need something?”

  


He shakes his head. “Just…wanted to know you were here.”

  


Yeah, Merlin’s not leaving this room for _shit._

  


He makes sure Survivor Arthur is in the bed that night. The other two must see something in his gaze because they don’t argue, just curl up on either side of the truly massive bed. Prince Prat nods off right away, Reasonable Arthur following not long after. Only Survivor Arthur stays awake, his eyes darting around until his gaze lands on Merlin, finishing up the last of his chores.

  


“Arthur?”

  


In the dark, Merlin can only see half of his face. “You’re staying, aren’t you?”

  


“I’m not going anywhere,” Merlin promises, “not for anything.”

  


“…I don’t want you to leave.”

  


“I won’t.”

  


“No one does what you do.”

  


“Well, there’s only so many manservants that will put up with their charge splitting into three.”

  


He doesn’t laugh. Merlin pauses, walking closer to the side of the bed.

  


“…no one takes care of me like you do,” comes the whisper. Merlin’s heart clenches.

  


“I’ve got no one else to care for like I care for you.”

  


Something in the darkness softens. “Don’t leave?”

  


“…I’m not going anywhere.”

  


Merlin doesn’t move from his spot next to the bed until the sunlight wakes him up. He groans, shifting around and rubbing his eyes blearily.

  


“Merlin?”

  


“Yeah,” he grumbles, “I’m awake.”

  


“Merlin.”

  


“Yes, I’m awake, hang on.”  


“ _Mer_ lin.”

  


“What?”

  


Merlin looks around, expecting to see Prince Prat glaring up at him, only to blink and see _one_ Arthur in the bed, not three.

  


“…Arthur?”

  


Arthur looks down at himself, then back up to Merlin. “Pretty sure.”

  


“Are you—you’re—you’re back.”

  


“I am.” Arthur swings his legs over the side of the bed and stares up at Merlin with _far_ too much awareness for this early in the morning. “Not that I ever really _went_ anywhere.”

  


“Do you, er, what do you remember?”

  


Arthur gives him a look that should _not_ be turning Merlin’s legs to jelly. “I remember everything, Merlin, including something about—“

  


“Please don’t,” Merlin says, feeling his face flare, “you don’t have to—”

  


“ _Mer_ lin,” Arthur calls softly, “look at me.”

  


“Is that required?”

  


“Come on, it’s not that bad.”

  


“Says someone who couldn’t look at me most of the time,” Merlin shoots back instantly, only to wince a second later. “Sorry, that was…bad.”

  


He hears the faint rustling of sheets as Arthur stands, then a warm hand under his chin. He lets Arthur guide his face up.

  


“You’re right,” Arthur says softly, “I couldn’t look at you then. But I can do it now.”

  


“Are you sure,” Merlin tries weakly, “that this isn’t just Reasonable Arthur?”

  


“ _Reasonable_ Arthur?”

  


“Yeah. The one of you that admitted Morgana was smarter than you and actually did your work.”

  


“I don’t know if I would say _smarter…”_

  


“And wasn’t a massive pain in my are.”

  


“Wait, did you give names to all of them?”

  


“Had to tell you apart somehow, didn’t I?”

  


“What were the others?”

  


“Prince Prat.”

  


“Of course.”

  


“And, um…” Merlin chews on his lip. “…Survivor Arthur.”

  


“Survivor?” Merlin nods. “Not ‘coward?’”

  


“What? No!” Merlin’s jaw clenches and he stares at Arthur in disbelief. “No, protecting yourself isn’t cowardly. You—you—what the _hell_ are you talking about?”

  


Arthur swallows heavily.

  


“…Arthur…Arthur, are you ashamed?”

  


Silence.

  


“You listen to me,” Merlin growls, taking a step forward right into Arthur’s space, “there is _nothing_ to be ashamed about surviving. You have to _live_ first and foremost and the last thing I want is for you to hurt yourself for the sake of it. You had to learn how to survive and I’m sorry and I hate it but I will _never_ call you a coward because of it!”

  


He’s only aware that he’s shouting by the end of it by the strain in his throat. He blinks, going to take a step back, only for the hand still under his chin to hold him firm.

  


Arthur’s hand comes up to gently trace his cheek, looking at him like he’s something precious.

  


“I meant it,” he says softly, “no one takes care of me like you do.”

  


This time, Merlin can see his face clearly and the sincerity in his gaze makes him tremble.

  


“…I meant it too,” he manages, “I’ve got no one else to care for like I care for you.”

  


The corner of Arthur’s mouth quirks up. “I didn’t look at you because I couldn’t,” he whispers, “I didn’t have the part of me that was brave enough to look.”

  


The hand slots back under his chin.

  


“But now I do,” he breathes, “and I…I actually might believe you now.”

  


“…now that you’ve got your intelligent side back?”

  


Arthur gives his chest a gentle shove, chuckling. “Enough, you idiot, I’m trying to be sincere here.”

  


“Sorry, sorry.”

  


Arthur sobers, his hand coming up to ruffle through Merlin’s hair and cup the back of his neck. “…don’t leave, Merlin.”

  


Merlin reaches back to cover Arthur’s hand with his. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  


“No,” Arthur corrects, the hand under Merlin’s shifting a little, “I mean don’t…don’t _leave._ I know I was the one literally split into three people but you…I saw more of _you_ too.”

  


Oh.

  


_Oh._

  


“So please, Merlin,” Arthur whispers, his voice shaking slightly, “please, don’t leave.”

  


“I told you,” Merlin says, “I’m not going anywhere, you prat.”

  


His voice is shaking a little too much for it to be completely joking.

  


The sunlight on the back of Merlin’s neck is not nearly as warm as Arthur’s hand, nor is it bright enough to hurt when their foreheads touch and their eyes fall shut. Arthur’s breath is warm on Merlin’s cheek.

  


“…no more running into magic circles, okay?”

  


“I don’t know,” Arthur murmurs, tilting his head just enough to brush his nose along Merlin’s temple, “I think this turned out alright.”

  


Merlin draws back just enough to open his mouth in some snappy remark only to have Arthur’s pleased smile immediately ruin it for him.

  


“…I’m sure the knights have questions.”

  


“I think Gwaine’ll be happy, don’t you?”

  


“I think he was grateful for an excuse to kick the shit out of me.”

  


“Wait, are you admitting that Gwaine is a better fighter than you?”

  


“ _Mer_ lin!”

  


**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Come yell at me on tumblr. 
> 
> https://a-small-batch-of-dragons.tumblr.com/


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